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imaginesbymk · 3 years

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“There is no Goodbye.”

The Pacific One Shot

Summary: Nothing is more ironic than Eugene breaking up with you just for the sake of sparing you the heartbreak if he were to die at war. But when he’s lucky to return home to Mobile, his first mission is to find you. Will Eugene be able to win you back before someone else does?

Pairing: Eugene Sledge x Fem!Reader

Non Requested

Tags: angst/breakup, swearing, smoking, drinking, mentions of an ethnic slur + mentions of war violence

Word Count: 3,016

Author’s Note: song inspiration for this oneshot is wait by m83!!! i totally recommend this song cos its so beautiful!! pls give this a like/reblog and maybe some feedback!! <333

YOU were sick of crying in your pillow every night. You were aware of how puffy your eyes must have been by now, you acknowledged your friends who called and visited, checking on you, but not even that helped soothe the heartache in you. His name just kept echoing in your mind and replayed, finding their way into your sleep. You wished you hated Eugene Sledge, but deep down in your heart- you just couldn’t.

Three knocks came on your bedroom door. “Y/n, your food’s getting cold,” you heard your mother from the other side.

“I’m not hungry.” You couldn’t remember the amount of times you’ve used that as an excuse to stay where you were, depressed and heartbroken.

Eugene broke up with you on a Sunday night. You two were dressed for the occasion; a dinner party was held at a grand convention center that was known and popular by several Alabamians. You wore the necklace Eugene got you as a gift, and you loved showing it off. In fact, you wore it every day to remind yourself, your family and your friends that Eugene Sledge was the love of your life.

Later you noticed how strange he was acting the whole dinner, how quiet and tense he got so suddenly. His hand would slip away whenever you held it while walking, or when they were held under the table. It was like he was trying to hold something back, like a cat catching his tongue. Then, you found him outside, leaning against the stairway.

“What is it, Eugene?”

He paused every time he looked at you, how it pained him to say what he needed to say. Whether it was now or never, he leaves for the train in a couple of days.

“Wait a minute, Eugene,” You remembered your body turning cold as ice, but not from the night breeze. “Are you breaking up with me?”

Oh how you wished he was kidding, but the look on his face read that he wasn’t in the slightest. He was joining the marines corps, despite his heart murmur and his father and brother encouraging him to go to college instead. He flunked out of his classes on purpose just to enlist, and since only God knows what fate lies ahead, he felt it was best to put a stop to the relationship.

It wasn’t your right to be angry about his choices sometimes. He was in his twenties now, old enough to make up his mind. He was fighting for everyone’s freedom, after all, which is probably the bravest thing Eugene is doing. However, you didn’t understand why. Eugene was a believer, he believed in God and miracles. He asked God to send him a miracle through prayer in his own time, and they were answered in the form of you. So why couldn’t he believe in the stable relationship you both can still have even when he’s off to fight?

As expected, you didn’t take it too well. Right there, you broke down in front of him. Eugene walked over and reached his hand out to touch your shoulder, but you shoved him away.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. You angrily ripped the necklace off of you and threw it at him before running off in tears. He never chased after you.

You dared not to go back inside the dining hall where your family and friends were, as well as his, so you walked home by yourself without waiting for anyone to catch up with you. He was going mad, you bet. Enlisting in the marines was one thing, but calling it quits on your relationship?

That was the last time you saw Eugene. He didn’t wait to see if you would turn up at the train station, begging him to have a change of heart. He never saw you there, and he boarded the train to California.

What were you more upset about: the love of your life dumping you, or the chances of the love of your life dying?

THE year was now 1945, and Eugene sat in the passenger seat in Sid’s mobile when he picked him up from the station.

The Japanese surrendered, and the boys back at the islands held a celebration with drinking, bonfires and loud music. Eugene, Snafu and Burgin sat on the rocks, watching the night sky, contemplating their return to home.

Victory Day was now nighttime, Eugene blew out smoke from his pipe, counting the stars. His tiny bible that was pocketed in his dungarees was pulled out, using the distant lit fires as a light to read through the tallied marks from the book of Genesis to Thessalonians, then out came a piece of paper that fell onto his lap.

He picked it up and unfolded it, taking another puff from his pipe. Eugene reads the first two words.

Dear y/n

The letter was never delivered to you because it was a letter Eugene had never sent, in fact it was never finished. He never got his first sentence down as they were ordered to get their gear ready to move down Okinawa. He never wrote a letter to you at all for the rest of his time serving, because he knew he wouldn’t be receiving one back.

Snafu slapped him awake one night and told him to shut up because he kept saying your name in his sleep. Eugene sounded desperate and panicked when he said it, too, and if the volume increased, it would have given away their spot. The marine was lucky it was a slap in the face rather than a bullet to the skull.

The next day, Snafu asked Eugene for two things: a light, and who “y/n” was.

“She was my girl,” Eugene handed a lighter to Snafu to light his cigarette.

“Was.”

“I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving her at home just for a man in uniform to come to her door to tell her I’ve been KIA.”

“Shit, so you dumped her?” Snafu grins. “Should of given her to me, Sledgehammer.”

Eugene didn’t laugh. It was an inappropriate joke, no surprise coming from Snafu himself. He sat in the filth in silence, his bloodied and dirty hands holding your gold necklace that you threw at him. He brought it with him to war, and kept it as a bookmark in his Bible.

Eugene’s home was the same as he had left it, he knew that when Sid pulled up at the long pathway at the gates. Georgia cottage was indeed a sight, and Eugene loved it so much as a child. It was spacious with nature and trees to walk his dog, a forest down the road to go hunting and fishing with his father, a meadow where he would take you on a warm day.

Sid sat in the parked car for a few moments, Eugene hadn't started walking to the front door just yet. “I visited her,” Sid broke the silence. “Just like I promised.”

Eugene had to ask, “How is she?”

“I was starting to think she had forgotten about you... that was until I showed up at her door,” he replies. “It was tense, but she’s doing all right.”

Eugene nods, smiling a bit. He trusted his best friend to check up on you for him. At least you were doing fine, according to Sid’s words. "No crying?”

“She don’t cry no more. I introduced her to Mary Houston and invited her to my wedding- if that’s alright with you.”

He chuckled, making a face. “Why would I not be? It’s your wedding, you greaser.”

“Well one, and you should probably take my word for it, Y/N still hates your guts,” he said. “And two, whether or not she speaks to you at all on my wedding day, at least I’ll have you there as my best man.” Sid noticed the look on his best friend’s face. “There’s the O.O.M ball coming up. Y/n’s gonna be there.”

He smiles at him. “See you later?”

“Welcome home, Eugene.” And he drives off, prompting Eugene to reunite with his parents.

[x]

SHOWING up to the O.O.M ball immediately made you feel bummed. You showed up without a date. You shouldn’t have the right to feel bummed, anyway. You turned down any guy that had asked you. You could have said yes, but something in your heart was telling you no, and you couldn’t figure out what it was.

Sighing, you suddenly didn’t feel like going to the bar for a second drink, and you just didn’t like waiting until your friends weren’t with their dates to go up to talk to them, so you found yourself heading outside to the front. It’s not like you could escape the guests, as tables and chairs were set outside occupied with more people, and even more people standing around and chatting with their friends.

You leaned over a tree where you felt like no one could see you for approach, being able to hear the loud music from the inside. But for what? You could just leave and say you felt sick. What were you waiting for?

Several years had gone by since he left, and nothing about you has changed. Your hair grew a bit after a slight trim, and so has your wardrobe. Your dress was pretty expensive, and no one complimented it. You just needed someone to come up to you and say-

“You look beautiful.”

You spun around, knowing that Southern accent all too well. Not a lot of alcohol was consumed, so asking yourself if you drank too much that you started to see and hear things was out of the question. How did he know where to find you? How was he able to sneak up on you like how he used to as a surprise? He’d always do that, then pick you up and spin you around with joy. But this time, he stood in front of you, gazing at you like a painting.

Your vision started blurring.

“Y/n?” he thought you were having a stroke in front of him, and he reached out his hand. “Y/n?”

“Gimme a minute.” You breathed heavily, gripping the tree for support. Maybe you were about to faint in shock. After picking up your senses, you were able to respond. “Eugene,” you said softly. “You’re here.”

He nodded. “In the flesh.” You really couldn’t believe it. Maybe you were seeing and hearing things. But he was here. Eugene Sledge was really here, standing before you, and not a scratch on his face. His hair was fixed, too, and you could tell he was now in greater shape.

“How was...” you felt like you shouldn’t ask for so many reasons. “I mean, you made it. You’re home.”

“At last,” he answered, placing his wooden pipe in his mouth. “What are you doing all the way over here? Your date’s probably searching all of Mobile for you.”

“I don’t have a date,” you shook your head. “I mean, I came alone. I didn’t bring anyone.”

“You too?” he blew out smoke.

“Yeah. Um-” all it took was for you to breath in and crunch your nose from the awful stench of nicotine that everyone was so used to. “Since when did you start smoking?”

He shrugged. “Since I killed my first Jap. Helps me calm down.”

"Well... I’m talking to you and you’re blowing smoke right in my face.”

Eugene nodded, taking the pipe out. “Sorry. How have you been?”

“Good.”

Eugene furrowed his brows. “That’s it? Just good?”

“I mean, what else would you expect me to say?”

“You’ve completed your education, you’re engaged, you and your partner are buying a house?”

“Jesus, Eugene. It’s way too early for that. I can’t even drive.”

“I’m kidding. I can only assume you’re in complete shock. I can’t say I’m not surprised,” Eugene says. “I can also assume you hated me as soon as you threw the necklace I gave you right at me.”

“And I still hate you.”

He looks at you, scoffing. “Is that right?”

“Yes,” you folded your arms. “You dump me and leave to join the marine corps, I wrote you a letter on your birthday and you never wrote back, every time I see your parents at the market they look at me like I’m the face of death. You shouldn’t have come here, I was doing just fine.”

“Really?” Eugene raised his eyebrows. The nonsense coming out that mouth. If only Eugene could kiss them shut. "All right. Heard you spoke with Sid.”

“Yeah, and? He invited me to his wedding."

“And he asked me to be his best man. So you might as well hold in your punch until the wedding is over.”

Your blood started to boil. Maybe you haven’t changed, but the war did indeed change the hell out of him. This attitude he carried wasn’t impressing you one bit. “What the hell’s your problem?”

“My problem? I’m trying to have a conversation with you, y/n.”

“And you’re acting as if I’m the reason you dumped me.”

“I had my reasons,” he spoke back,

“Damn you, Eugene Sledge!” you slapped him repeatedly on his chest and shoulder. “Damn you for hurting me like that! Damn you for not writing to me! Damn you for leaving me!”

You cried out, as he simply stared and did his best to restrain your arms away from hitting him once more.

He never spoke a word until you calmed down. Then, you realized... “Oh God, Eugene. I’m so sorry,” you gasp. “I would never lay a hand on you.”

“A Jap tried to kill me with a bayonet,” Eugene said. “I kinda had that slap coming.”

You let a tear fall down your cheek, and you looked down so Eugene wouldn’t be able to notice, but he was smart enough to know. “Baby... it’s okay. I’m here now.” He pulled you close and held you. You haven’t felt his touch since that night. You were overcome with the nostalgia during the happy times, and even the sad times. He would hold you like you were gonna slip right out of his hands.

“I’ve missed you so much, y/n. There hasn’t been a night where I haven’t dreamt about you, where I would die, or where I would watch you marry a man who doesn’t know you the way I do.”

“Eugene... you broke my heart and just stomped on it like mud.”

“And you had every right to be hurt, but that was never my intention, I just did what I thought was the right thing.” He played with the curls in your hair and kissed you softly on your temple.

It wasn’t like it was a last minute decision. Regardless his heart murmur was there or not, he wasn’t going to stay home and attend classes. Breaking up with you wasn’t last minute, either.

“I guess I should have been more understanding,” you admit, leaning back against the tree.

“I spent nights trying to come up with what I was going to say, and when I was planning on saying it. I used to worry about the murmur, if I’d remember to feed Deacon, or telling my Mother about my plans for the future.”

“You weren’t sure about any of those things, Gene.”

“Seeing your face that night made me realize I’m never going to love anyone else the way I love you,” Eugene shook his head slowly. “I was definitely sure about that.”

“Loved,” you correct him.

“No, y/n. Love. I still love you, more than the stars reach the apex of this goddamn universe. I don’t think I’m ever gonna stop loving you. You’re really the answer God has given me after endless nights of praying for something good.”

“Then why didn’t you write me?”

“I had to find a way to move on. If it distracted me from fighting, I would have been as good as dead. Something in me died from the war, but the feelings I have for you are still here.”

You couldn’t help but smile a bit. “I love you more, Eugene.”

“So I hope it’s not too late to ask this,” Eugene said. “Miss Y/N Y/L/N, are you seeing anyone?”

You shook your head.

He raised his brows. “So for nearly four years, you haven’t been seeing anyone? Not one fella?”

“I tried to. I mean, I kept thinking you slept with a nurse.”

“Women weren’t even in my corner of the pacific, and nurses were there to do their jobs. Besides,” Eugene smiled. “I’d rather come home to the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known in Mobile.”

“Mary Houston?”

Eugene laughs. “I was talking about you. At least you’re humble.” He laughed harder when you started playfully slapping him on the chest repeatedly again. “Hey! But there’s no one I’d rather be with. I’m willing to start over, maybe pick up where we left off.”

“I would love that.”

Eugene reached in his tux pocket, pulling out the golden necklace you loved wearing. “I believe this belongs to you.” He walked behind you, and began wrapping the necklace around your neck, clipping the lock together in place. “Y’know, after throwing it right at my face?”

“Sorry,” you blushed. “Don’t ever do that again; saying goodbye.”

“There is no goodbye.” He turned your head to face him using his finger under your chin. “There never was, just the old hello.”

You smiled again.

“I’m gonna kiss you now.” He pulls you close to him. “Is that all right?”

“You can kiss me whenever you feel like it, Gene.” And you wouldn’t mind it one bit.

“Yes, ma’am.” And he leans in, kissing you almost a dozen times now, the overcoming nostalgia of the good time hitting once more. “And once I’m done kissing the daylights outta you, I’m bringing you inside. It’s been a while since I’ve danced with the love of my life.”

the end

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creativeashproductions · 4 years

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Faded Memories // Julie Molina

Summary: After the death of her mother more than music is dropped from Julie’s life. Julie breaks up with her best friend turned then girlfriend Ramona. When Ramona gets closure it causes Julie remembers that Ramona was more than a girlfriend. She was her best friend too.

Warning: Swearing, talk of death, break-up, angst (ain’t new here), Julie and Ramona are ex-girlfriends and no happy ending (oops)

Characters: ex!Julie Molina x ex!Ramona Monet (just worked better with an OC even when it will get less traction, sorry)

Words: 2.9k

A/N: So in my Charlie Gillespie imagine A Walk Down The Aisle the reader played a character Ramona Monet on the show. @leave-reality-behind wanted a fic off the tiny scene I wrote. So here you go.

Please ask to be tagged in my inbox because I can’t promise you will through commenting on the fics.

Masterlist

Ramona Monet’s deep burgundy lips manoeuvred into an ‘o’ as she released a deep breath of air sending her fringe flying. The last place she wanted to be was the spirit rally, but her Pops had banned for from the hidden gem in the older parts of LA. Ramona’s love of old movies stemmed from the many times her father had dropped her off at the movie theatre on his way to work. Being banned and her best friend performing at the rally is the only reason she would show her face.

Ramona had chosen a red tartan shirt with her fishnets that would more than likely land her in Principle Lessa’s office. As usual, she would fight ‘it broke dress code’ earing a little less respect from the adult but admiration for the quick retorts. Ramona made her way to the gym as the first beat of Carrie’s song played, her black ankle boots finding the way to the bleachers.

“Hey, Monet,” Nick spoke, leaning forward from his concealed position in the nest of jocks. The kind blonde had always been lovely to his girlfriend’s best friend.

“Nick.” Ramona nodded looking back as Carrie burst into the fast pace choreography that went with the pop song.

Dirty Candi’s music was not what Ramona listened to, but she couldn’t fault that it was a catchy song that would be in everyone’s head for days. From a distance, Carrie’s brown eyes finding Ramona wearing her self-made merch.

Ramona’s shirt sported the letters of Dirty Candi in the iconic colours Carrie had stressed over in the beginning. The black shirt was bleached in a tie-dye fashion, but it made Carrie’s heart flutter at the supportive friend she had.

“Whoo!” Ramona called over the loud background noise as Carrie gracefully dropped to perform the floor choreo. The words referencing to the band Queen made the teen girl knowing it was Carrie’s way of acknowledging the car karaoke.

Ramona’s attention was brought to the side where two girls were watching the performance. Flynn and Julie had been in the back of Ramona’s mind since the accident happened; Ramona’s heart dropped at the girl. Julie and Ramona had a good history tainted by tragic loss and teenage angst.

Ramona and Julie had been childhood best friends being a few houses from each other and that history was bittersweet. The two girls had nervously shared their first kisses in the now dilapidated treehouse in the Monet’s backyard. A relationship bloomed like a flower in the morning sun before the sun was concealed behind a storm cloud. Julie’s mom died, and Julie asked for a break.

Now everyone knows that a break is really a breakup and the naïve girlfriends had believed that. Then as Julie struggled with music, she struck out to the closest person, her girlfriend and Ramona found herself dumped. The dumping shattered Ramona’s heart, and the friend group divided. Flynn chose Julie and Carrie, disgusted by the cruel words, chose Ramona in a true Carrie fashion; Carrie and Ramona had initially only interacted together for their mutual friend/girlfriend. Then Ramona’s heart was obliterated when days later, she caught Julie staring at Nick with the same look Ramona used to get.

Ramona’s head turned to disregard the girl that had run out of music class the previous day during her performance. Rumours circulated by the end of the day that Julie Molina had been officially kicked out of the program; Ramona was both sad and relieved. Julie’s own head turned to catch the profile of her ex-girlfriend.

“Go Bobcats!” Carrie Wilson chimed strutting off to the girls change room for the dramatic exit. Needing a break from Julie, the Monet girl followed Dirty Candi into the change room.

“Nailed it,” Ramona spoke, revealing white teeth behind her dark lipstick gaining the pink-haired girl’s attention. Carrie’s face beamed at the compliment.

Ramona and Carrie Wilson couldn’t be farther in comparison with their different tastes and appearance. Carrie was all pink and glittery while Ramona was grunge and angst. Ramona was the one to push Carrie into making a YouTube channel, even promoting the group to Ramona’s followers without prompting.

“Oh! Thank you!” Carrie tugged her best friend into her arms, choking her taller friend with the tight embrace.

“So, I overheard Julie and Flynn when I walked by the music room. Julie’s going to perform for Mrs Harrison.” Ramona warned her best friend concerned as Carrie’s complexation changed to make the gaudy pink wig, “OH!”

Carrie’s French manicure gouged Ramona’s bare arm as she was tugged after the teenager back into the gym. A gasp fell from both their lips as Kayla, the purple dancer for Dirty Candi appeared. The three students rushed the stage where three guys popped out of nowhere on the stage.

“What the hell?” Ramona demanded watching her ex-girlfriend break out of her music shell, “Wow.”

“What do you mean ‘wow’ Ro?” Carrie asked in exasperation as her best friend stared at the stage, enjoying the music being played. Carrie scoffed only to soften when she saw the expression on Ramona, “Ro, she doesn’t deserve you. She never did.”

The sad smile appeared on Ramona’s face as her eyes met the bass player’s wink. Ramona flushed at the attention taken aback from the confidence. For a split-second, Ramona considered wiggling her way into the band to get back at Julie.

But while Ramona dressed like a confident badass, it was inside that she felt alone and hurt that Julie was doing so well without her. That sent rage flooding Carrie’s body so when Kayla fawned over the band Carrie glared at her. Kayla dropped her head at the glare.

“I’m gonna go,” Ramona spoke walking away from the stage and her ex who apparently, she still had feelings for. God help Ramona. Why was it when Ramona was shaking the feeling that Julie had to come back with a bang?

Ramona was striding out of the gym as the band disappeared, leaving the Molina girl alone to explain. Ramona leaned against the bathroom sink uncaring of the germs in carried staring at the teen in the mirror. The bubbling sadness faded down, remembering the changes that had happened, she was better without Julie.

Ramona walked back into the hall, catching the tail end of Julie’s conversation with absolutely no one near her. Ramona’s mossy green eyes rolled as she walked by the younger girl the bubble of anger reaching the surface. The sheepish smile on Julie’s face as a concerned custodian pushed his cart by.

“Oh, so does this girl.” Reggie spoke, watching as a rocker chick made a wide berth around his only remaining alive friend, “Ooh, she’s pretty.”

Julie watched the older girl walk by keeping her gaze ahead, “Hey Mona.”

Ramona cast a weird look at the other girl with a roll of her eyes, “Good on you for performing. Surprised someone other than Flynn survived Bitch Bomb 2019.”

Ramona turned around the corner of lockers leaving the Puerto Rican’s shoulders to deflate at the remind of Flynn running off. Sunset Curve watched the interaction with raised brows flicking between the very different girls.

“What was that about?” Alex wondered, viewing the sad expression of the gifted singer’s face. The utter sadness reminding him of when he broke up with his first boyfriend in ’93 and the lingering feeling.

“That was Ramona.” Julie sighed, picking at the braided bracelet on her wrist that had matched the one you used to wear.

Being fourteen without jobs and little allowance gifts had been mostly thrifted or homemade so for the six month anniversary they had braided bracelets. They had never come off their wrists until the breakup; Ramona had cut it off in a puddle of tears. Julie couldn’t bring herself to remove hers.

“When did Julie get smart enough to how about holograms?” Carrie scoffed as Ramona joined her at the lab table. The performance lingering like a bad taste of the girl’s tongue, “I worked weeks on that song! It was so hard getting Katy’s choreographer to help.”

“Carrie she-“

“She is so stupid! We’ve all lost someone, and we didn’t pull a Bitch Bomb 2019.” Carrie exclaimed referring to the first months of Julie’s grief-led wrath.

Carrie was both right and wrong in that sense because everyone grieved differently, Carrie would do retail shopping. Ramona’s way of dealing was locking herself in a room with a piano and lugging up water balloons to a roof; very Peyton Sawyer of her. Julie never reached out to apologize for her actions, but Ramona blocked her on everything.

“Car focus on the lab. You still have that bomb-ass song you’re working on.” Ramona sympathized with the teen. Carrie nodded her head, deciding to not focus on some girl with a fluke of a performance; Julie almost puked on the piano a few days ago, so her surprise band was probably a one-time thing.

“Don’t you have anything better than-“

“Carrie do you hear something?” Ramona pursed her lips, scanning the classroom with a feigned look of confusion. Carrie’s lips twitched at her best friend’s antics, “I swore I heard the voice of irrelevance.”

“Ooh and I swore I smelt gutter water perfume too.” Carrie flicked her hair over her shoulder, smirking at Flynn’s look of anger, “Mr. Taylor! Flynn threatened to burn me!”

Mr Taylor turned his attention from Kayla to Flynn’s expression of disbelief and the glare directed at the table ahead. Putting on a look of shock, Ramona appeared genuinely flabbergasted to the chemistry teacher.

“Flynn, that’s detention.” Mr Taylor spoke, turning back to Kayla.

“You bit-“Flynn was cut off by the bell ringing. Ramona and Carrie had already left the confident girl in the room. Flynn was fuming with both Julie’s lying and the unfair detention because of two popular vindictive girls.

One would expect Ramona Monet, as a member of the music program, to play guitar or drums. However, Ramona was a classically trained pianist with an affinity with stringed instruments as well. The Monet family had a footing in the music world with her mother taught in the same way, and her father a composer.

“Oh! Sorry.” Ramona’s intense focus on the music enchanting the room was pulled as the awkward form stood in the entrance.

“Seriously, Molina?” Ramona winced as her hands fell on the keys creating an ear gouging shriek. Her green eyes shining brighter with the bare face she had chosen with little motivation for makeup, “I’ve been using this room every day at the same time since freshman year. You should know that. Guess I really wasn’t even an afterthought.”

Ramona’s hand shoved soft top binder of her notes in her black bag covered in many pins and embroidered patches. Her bright pink nail polish surprising Julie but her eyes drowned in the form-fitting ripped black jeans with the wine red cable knit sweater. Cheeks flushing Julie stuttered.

“S-sorry. I just-“

“Whatever.” Ramona shoved passed her ex-girlfriend, “Why do you even wear that?”

Julie glanced at the meaningful bracelet that Ramona intensely stared at with the dark and light strings braided. Julie’s eyes fell to see Ramona no longer wore braided bracelets but a bracelet with a moon charm.

“It means a lot.”

“Just not the person.” Ramona darkly chuckled, “Kinda childish?”

Julie shuffled uncomfortably on her feet picking at her cuticle at the insult her antagonist ex threw at her. Three ghosts glared at the Monet girl pissed at the unfair treatment she was giving Julie.

“Hey! What the hell is your problem?” Luke snapped, stepping forward even as Alex made his input of it being unnecessary; they were dead. To Alex shock, the disgruntled girl shifted her gaze from Julie to the trio.

“My problem is none of your damn business Uncle Jesse.” Ramona spat earning raised brows at her reference.

“Did she die in the ’90s too?” Reggie stage whispered to his best friend staring the pretty brunette down. Ramona’s eyes rolled.

“Should have known. The only people Julie didn’t scare off would be the dead.” Ramona snarked twisting on her heel to storm off into the distance.

“I’m sorry!” Julie yelled, bringing the brunette to a dead stop with her foot not planted on the floor yet as the apology finally came.

All Ramona had ever wanted was Julie to apologize for her shitty decision to dump Ramona cruelly. Using bitter words on her personal life to drive the wedge but the final nail in the coffin was the slammed door in Ramona’s face.

“For what?” Ramona seethed, “For asking for space and screaming when I gave it? Dumping me and acting like I was the black plague? How about when you forgot about my audition? Burning the flowers, I sent for the funeral? Or making breaking off communication and Flynn completely ignoring me?”

“Oh damn.” Luke murmured, stepping back to the drummer and bassist floored at the confrontation. His heart dropped, finally understanding why Julie avoided all topics relating to Ramona.

“I was wrong.” Julie admitted, “I pushed you away. I got mad when you gave me what I wanted. I should have talked to you and not broke up with you that way I did.”

“She burnt funeral flowers. “Alex whispered to Reggie, surprised at the out of character action from his new friend.

“I chose you over my audition. I chose to offer support for my best friend, not just my then-girlfriend, on one of her worst days. I get to the funeral, and you refused to let me say goodbye to the woman that practically raised me as well.” Ramona calmed down, staring at the younger girl breaking apart in front of her.

It felt like a weight dropped off Ramona’s shoulders or the chains of heartbreak and confusion unlocked with the key of closure. The clouds disappeared, letting the sun help the flowers bloom after a year of rain. A genuine smile spread on the girls face as Julie’s dropped at the beautiful sight.

“I hope you well Birdie.” Julie’s heart fluttered at the pet name Ramona had coined for the teenager. It shortened from songbird to birdie, and Julie hadn’t heard in what felt like years, “I gotta go. It’s filming day.”

Julie went pushed into a memory.

Summer 2018

The camera was entirely set on Ramona in the treehouse that her Pop had built when she was five years old. Fourteen-year-old Ramona was relaxing as she fixed her white off-shoulder crop top to be straight once more. The cover of the song accompanied by her acoustic guitar was pretty to the years of the short girl at the entrance.

“I still think it’s cheesy to call it Music Monday.” Ramona told the camera with a shy smile after strumming the last note. Her eyes meeting the girl that tackled her in a hug, “Birdie!”

“Birdie?” Julie questioned leaning back from her kissing attacks on every inch of her dirty-blonde girlfriend.

“Songbird is a bit of a mouthful.” Ramona blushed hiding in Julie’s neck unaware of the camera still rolling. The blush deepened at the lingering kiss to Ramona’s hairline.

“I love it.” Julie softly spoke, leaning back to gaze into Ramona’s green eyes swimming in the soft feeling.

Julie Molina and Ramona Monet had been the classic best friends with hidden crushes that shattered one afternoon. Ramona was nervous about a date she had the next day, and she had never kissed anyone. Julie, awed by her best friend, admitted she’d never kissed anyone and so in a cliché, the girls decided to share their first kiss. Feelings were revealed, and the two started to date.

“So, what brings you here.” Ramona asked, stopping the camera from recording as her girlfriend shifted, “What’s up?”

“If you’re ready I’d like to have you over for dinner.” Julie shyly asked, avoiding Ramona’s gaze.

“That’s not new Birdie.” Ramona chuckled helping the shorter girl to her feet fingers caressing the bracelet that was a twin to her own. Julie’s eyes flicked down to the light pink shorts that matched the butterfly click in Ro’s hair.

“Not as my best friend. As my girlfriend.” Julie murmured fearing the response.

“Should I call your parents Mr and Mrs.” Ramona wondered, kissing Julie’s cheek as the other girl relaxed at the statement. Julie feared Ramona wasn’t ready or didn’t want to be at that stage in the relationship, “If you are ready, then so am I.”

“You’re the best thing to happen to me.” Julie beamed, “Oh! I wanna show you the song Mom, and I made!”

Julie tugged her pretty girlfriend to the front of the house to lead her to the Molina’s garage they renovated into a music studio. The girls’ laughter floating in the summer breeze, the relationship blooming under the sun as it developed further. Naïvely the two young teens believed nothing could rip them apart, if only they knew.

“So, I’m guessing she’s off-limits?” Reggie offered as he bounced on his heels, attempting to lighten the mood. The glare from Julie was enough to answer that question.

“Reg. Firstly, don’t date your friend’s ex. Secondly, you’re dead.” Alex deadpanned at his best friend to turn to Julie, “Are you okay?”

“No.” Julie honestly spoke, “I guess I never realized that losing my girlfriend also meant I would lose my best friend.”

On the other side of the school, Ramona Monet could finally smile as the memories with Julie regained the colour grief had erased. Ramona Monet was better than fine, she was happy.

Tag List (PLEASE SEND AN INBOX TO BE ADDED!)

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#julie molina imagines #julie molina x reader #julie molina x oc #julie and the phantoms imagines #julie and the phantoms #ex!julie molina x ex!girlfriend #angst #julie molina #jatp fanfic #caitsy and ash productions

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carebearbliss · 4 years

Text

How NCT 127 would confess to you

A/N: This took way longer than it was intended, but here it is! Hope you enjoy~

Taeil

Taeil went over the plan at least 50 times to make sure the delivery would be as smooth as he hoped it would be

Probably couldn’t really sleep the night before cause what if you reject him????

Plans on singing a love song specially for you, like a private mini concert in a rented out café you two frequent a lot

When you get to your usual hangout spot, the lights were out and you were confused af

But then as the lights went back on again you saw Taeil standing on a makeshift stage and the café was decorated with cute fairy lights and balloons and all

Then music started playing as he serenaded you sweetly and honestly you were already sold from the minute he started singing ngl

Kinda messes up what he prepared to say to you afterwards because he doesn’t want to screw it up but also when he looks at you his mind kinda goes blank

So happy and relieved when you tell him the feeling’s mutual that he lowkey almost tripped on the way back to his seat cause he lost feeling in both his legs

Lots of shy and awkward gazing and blushing on both parts, but when you meet each other’s gaze he gives you the brightest smile ever

Overall just really adorable????

Johnny

I swear 10/10 this guy had something elaborate and romantic planned out the moment he realized his feelings for you

Would probably pull out something kinda cheesy to impress you, like playing your favorite song on the piano (or teaching you how to play, o o f)

I can see him taking you on walks around the city afterwards, someplace quiet with a nice scenery that would provide a nice backdrop for his confession

Tells you he’s gonna go pick up a call real quick, then kinda disappears

You get lowkey angry like wtf Johnny w h a t are you doing, but then he sends you text messages to a sort of scavenger hunt

Was actually planning on just telling you verbally what you mean to him and how he feels for you but then realized he’s not really good at doing that face to face so this is his fun alternative

Anyways, he gives you hints and directions through text message and at each ‘landmark’ he directs you to, you find small notes where he wrote down what exactly he likes about you and moments he realized he’s in love with you

Basically the boi wrote you a love letter but scattered around at least 7 different spots while he’s hiding who knows where

By the time you get to the final spot you see him standing in front of you with a large bouquet in his hands (for you) and this silly grin on his face

Lowkey almost moved you to tears as he told you he likes you

You spend the night looking at the stars and walking hand in hand as you two talk about anything and everything at the same time

Taeyong

Y’know those smooth pick-up lines he pulls out of his sleeves? Yeah, prepare for those cause they are definitely coming your way

Would probably go for a sweet and sentimental confession

Lowkey tries to hint at his feelings for you by recommending love songs every now and then

One day he randomly shows up at your doorstep with your favorite flowers in one hand and a gift in the other (and also some snacks and sweets cause why the heck not)

I can see him gifting you something very meaningful, like a photo album with pictures of you two and places you went together or an entire playlist of songs that made him think of you

You thought it’d just be a normal hangout with your best friend

But then he tries to coyly recommend a song to you and asks you to listen to it and tell him what you think of it

5 seconds in you realize it’s actually him singing a self-made confession song for you

He gets embarrassed halfway through you listening to the song cause you keep staring at him with this touched expression on your face

But when the song’s over you’re just kind of left speechless until you tell him “me too.. I like you too” and it’s like his heart stopped skipping a beat and he was sent straight to heaven on earth

All in all just a really sweet and thoughtful confession asdfghjkl;

Yuta

Ever since Yuta realized how he felt toward you, he’s been trying his best to not impulsively blurt out that he likes you, especially because he’s not sure if it’s mutual

Occasionally can’t help but murmur “you’re so cute” under his breath when he’s spending time with you though

You know he tends to be quite playful and flirtatious around you, so whenever he tries to make advances you just play it off as him joking around (half the time he’s actually seriously stopping himself from stealing a kiss ngl)

One day he decides to ask you out on a date over the phone and you agree thinking it’s just him being goofy again cause what else could it be??

Yuta takes you on a hiking date, aiming to take you to this nice and scenic viewpoint and confess there

But things take a different turn when halfway through the hike you realize that he was actually being serious about this date and he realizes you thought he was playing around

Then he kind of goes off on this impulsive rant like ‘Damn it Y/N I’ve been flirting with you for an entire year why do you keep thinking I’m not being serious about this’ and yeah he kind of floops out that he’s been crushing on you ever since y’all met

So things didn’t really go as planned but you had a serious conversation about it and by the time you reached the viewpoint you were already holding hands and smiling fondly at each other :’)

Doyoung

Has been torn for weeks about how to confess to you and it’s showing

He wants to plan something that would make sure you knew how much he cared about you, so he scoured every possible source he could find, including the internet, all his good friends he could confide into, and even asked his parents who confessed to the other and how..

Anyways, when Doyoung meets up with you he still hasn’t made his mind about how to confess

And technically he wasn’t planning on doing so either, until he saw how battered up you looked from an ugly fall off the stairs last week and how you tried to hide that wearing a big hoodie and sunglasses

During winter

You thought he didn’t notice though until he kind of had enough of your act and just pulled off the hoodie from your head and took off your glasses to reveal this bigass purple bruise on your face, still evident beneath your make-up

Doyoung couldn’t help seeing you so vulnerable and inattentive toward your own wellbeing and so gave you an entire lecture nagging at you to be more careful

Over the next few days he comes by unannounced to check the safety of basically your entire home to make sure you wouldn’t trip again and also takes care of your bruise and minor grazes on your arms and knees

And it just so happened that he accidentally murmured “How did I fall in love with such a clumsy human being” just when he thought you didn’t hear it

You replied with “How did I fall in love with such a nagging mom-figure” and well, the rest is history :’)

Jaehyun

Actually, you kind of knew for a while now that he probably had a crush on you because of that one time he accidentally sent a text to you that said “I don’t know what to do, should I confess to Y/N?”

You read the message before he quickly deleted it and since then both of you pretended that never happened

Anyways, I can see Jaehyun taking you out for a nice dinner at this new and trendy restaurant (complete with lit candles and fancy music and all)

He’d try his best to appear calm and composed, and he would’ve succeeded had his hands not been trembling when he poured more wine in both your glasses

Probably has this whole speech ready in his back pocket just in case he forgot what he wanted to say

But before he can start on that you casually say “So is this how you’re planning on confessing to me?” and Jaehyun automatically answers yes before he’s processed that you in fact knew all along how he felt for you

You let him finish his confession speech though cause he worked so hard on it, and you obviously accept to be his girlfriend

He even prepared a little surprise for you together with the staff, it was a cute cake with both your names in the shape of a heart

The date ends with you two talking and having fun conversations at the restaurant until it closed (and you had to be kicked out)

Jungwoo

I see so many ways in which Jungwoo would confess, simply cause he can be so shy and reserved but also really sassy and goofy at the same time

Anyways, I think he’d go for something a little more subtle than his hyungs would, kinda secret admirer style?

The first time you realized you had a secret admirer was when you found a note in your bag containing a compliment directed toward you and a cute drawing next to it

You thought it was really sweet and so Jungwoo continued sending you love notes and putting it in random but somewhat inconspicuous spots, like your locker, your books, etc.

This went on for a couple of months until one day Jungwoo decied it was time to make it known that he was the secret admirer, so he started announcing in a note that he was someone you knew well

That’s when you started finding notes at the most random of places: inside your phonecase, heck even the inside of your shoe

You had absolutely no clue who this person was and were growing kind of agitated at the fact that you couldn’t send him notes back, until Jungwoo slipped up once and complimented you in the exact same way as your secret admirer did

On the day he planned to confess, you were just casually studying together (or more like, you were trying to study and he was just staring at you boredly)

Jungwoo waited patiently until you finished, then told you you had something stuck in your hair

And as you reached for it, you found it to be a folded piece of paper stating “I like you”, with Jungwoo smiling knowingly at you

Mark

Would be a panicking mess, let’s be real

Asks all the hyungs for advice on what to do

Mark would take you to someplace special for the both of you, like the place you first met or where he first realized he has feelings for you

He wouldn’t hold a big speech or make it into a big event, he’d want to keep it simple and to the point so as not to burden you too much

I see him just wanting to make it a fun day when you two meet up, confession or not

Like a walk along the river or at a park, some icecream, maybe even biking or (roller)skating around and picknicking

Tries to find the right timing to break the news to you, fails miserably at doing so most of the time

You knew he had something to say though cause he avoided making direct eye contact with you throughout the entire day

But when he’s ready, he musters up all his courage, coughs a little as a way of making clear that he has something to say, and then just goes for it

Panics halfway through the confession, like he just turns into this shy blushy mess, especially when he stutters or messes up his words

Kinda rambles his way through it but looks you directly in the eye when he says that he likes you

Would add something like “I hope this doesn’t affect our friendship” after confessing cause that’s legit been the nr. 1 reason why he was hesitating confessing to you

Overall would be really nervous about it, but also very sweet and sincere!

Haechan

9/10 would go for an over the top public confession, just cause he can

You two met up at this arcade, your usual hangout spot to relieve yourselves from stress and play fun games together

You originally thought it would be just a normal day meeting up with your longtime friend, but turns out you were completely wrong

Cause the minute you stepped into the venue, you were met with all kinds of festive decorations, balloons, and familiar faces shouting “SURPRISE!!!” at the top of their lungs

Turns out Haechan planned a surprise party for you complete with hilarious banners with him making heart signs

When you turned around to look at Haechan, he was kneeling on the floor holding a big bouquet of your favorite flowers and this giant teddy bear

As he looked up to you, he asked you to be his girlfriend, to which you said yes and were met with a rainfall of confetti and cheering

You spent the day playing fun games with your boyfriend and friends

(And to Haechan’s discontent and envy, you kinda beat him at almost every arcade game there was to play)

#nct #nct 127 #nct reaction #nct scenario #boyfriend #nct taeyong #nct johnny #nct haechan #nct jaehyun #nct mark #nct jungwoo #nct doyoung #nct taeil #nct yuta #kpop reaction #nct edit #nct confess

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theotherackerman · 3 years

Text

My Mind Turns Your Life Into Folklore

NOTES: January 3rd, Sunday

song credit:exile- taylor swift featuring bon iver,

chapter seven: you were my crown

Hange knew Levi when they were both in high school together. He had a reputation of being a bit of a badass and someone you didn’t get onto the wrong side of. Hange wasn’t afraid of him though. They would often sit next to him in class. Others would just stare at Hange but they paid no mind.

Hange lost track of Levi after high school.

Hange had gone off to college to pursue their one true love of science. They had heard that Levi had been arrested again and then a little while later, that Levi was going into the service. Mutual friends seemed to be proud of Levi, so Hange was proud too.

For Christmas one year, the group got together and made a care package for Levi. Hange included a few small, silly books they had picked up and some tea they had found.

Hange found a letter in the mailbox one day.

Hange,

Thanks.

How’s whatever you're studying? Quantum physics or whatever? Let me know if you discover the answers to the universe.

-Levi

PS : Send more tea.

That’s how it began. They wrote letters back and forth, Hange sending Levi tea and whatever little, stupid things that reminded them of him.

Then the incident happened.

Levi came back different.

He seemed colder, withdrawn.

Hange didn’t know how to react.

So instead they acted like Levi was the same person that they had been writing all this time.

Instead of sending condolences or gift baskets, Hange just regularly delivered tea to Levi.

They would just show up, say hello, hand Levi loose leaf tea in a pretty box, and leave.

“Tell her to bring me some bourbon next time!” Kenny had yelled from inside the house.

Levi pinched the bridge of his nose, “Kenny, please shut up. Do you want to come in?”

“Sure,” Hange smiled.

It was the beginning of their weekly tea meetings.

Then Mikasa came along.

Their weekly tea meetings continued but it sometimes was joined by a nine year and her toys.

Levi had grumbled and pretended to hate it but Hange knew the truth.

It had been no surprise to Hange how Levi had pretended to hate the fact he had all of the kids moving back in. They were all still kids to both Hange and Levi.

Hange knew Levi was happy to have everyone back. They had seen how sad he had been when Mikasa had left. The silence that had overtaken the house. That had been the point of the dogs, to liven up an otherwise quiet house.

Hange had found Sawney and Bean at an animal shelter. They had a sad story attached to them about how they had just been left in a box. Hange couldn’t bear to separate them, so two dogs came home with Hange to be Levi’s late Christmas gift.

Now Sawney and Bean sat in chairs at the kitchen table on both sides of Levi who was feeding them bacon and eggs.

Sasha had been the one to prepare breakfast as she always woke up first.

A groggy Ymir had appeared next who immediately went straight to the coffee machine.

Historia and Mikasa followed a few moments later.

“You’re going to make it too strong again and no one but you will drink it,” Historia said as she t ried to push Ymir out of the way.

“You and Mika make it too weak!” Ymir countered standing her ground in front of the coffee machine.

Levi sighed before he got up, “move.”

And Ymir and Historia did.

-----------------------------------

“Did you ever text him back?” Ymir asked long after Jean and Connie had left.

“Not yet,” Mikasa answered before she shuffled her music around.

They were back in the sunroom to continue work on their music, even without a record deal.

“Do it quick like a Band-Aid! Just be like ‘Eren, you’re an ass but I like your ass. Thanks for complimenting my writing abilities. You are correct, you will never be able to live up to my creative genius,” Sasha laughed.

“That is the worst response I’ve ever heard. Do text Niccolo shit like that?” Ymir asked Sasha as she plugged in her bass to the amp.

“Nah, it was more like ‘Hey, I hear you can bang the drums pretty well do you think you can bang me like those drums?’”

“I take it back. That’s actually the worst. Is he even your boyfriend yet?”

“No, I haven’t even kissed him. He’s more like….I dunno. This guy I text and then when I see him, I turn into a potato.”

Historia was the first to notice Mikasa being uncomfortable. It was another reminder that Mikasa was alone. So Historia plopped down next to her on the piano bench in front of the keyboard.

“You know I would like to work on this song Mikasa and I have been working on instead of hearing about Sasha sexting Niccolo, “ Historia said as she pulled out her own music.

“I second that,” Annie said as she sat on the other side of Mikasa with her guitar.

“I third it!” Armin yelled from the living room.

There were barks from Sawney and Bean.

“Ya’ll suck but fine,” Sasha said before going over to her drum set.

“So it’s a duet, right? You said that when you sent the lyrics over,” Historia asked.

Mikasa nodded, “Yeah. I already worked with Ymir on the first part. So it’s Annie’s vocalization here. Then it goes to you, Historia. Do you just want to take it from the vocalizations?”

“I can do that,” Annie said as Mikasa began to play the piano. “ Hoo, hoo-ooh. Hoo, hoo-ooh. Hoo,hoo-ooh ,” Annie sang before Historia took over.

“[lyrics redacted due to copyright]”

Ymir was staring at Historia, their past was clearly on display here. Ymir had jealousy issues, something that she would never deny. How many fights had she purposely picked against Reiner to prove she was the better choice?

“ And then this chorus is just you,” Mikasa pointed out before playing the next part of the song.

“[lyrics redacted due to copyright],”

Historia had been the one to move out for a very brief few days when they had broken up. Even though it was her father’s house, she had let Ymir stay.

“And then it goes back to Ymir, then it’s like a call and response. Do you want to just try it or you want me to show you?”

Ymir moved so she could look over Mikasa’s shoulder.

“Let’s just try it,” Ymir answered. Mikasa nodded before she began to play again. “[lyrics redacted due to copyright]”

“[lyrics redacted due to copyright],” ” Historia sang.

For some reason, that made Ymir feel like she was being attacked by Historia. She did hear her out.

It was Historia not hearing Ymir out that was the problem.

“[lyrics redacted due to copyright],”

Historia never gave Ymir a warning sign? Well, Ymir clearly hadn’t been paying attention. How many times she made it clear that she had feelings for Ymir and the other girl had just brushed it off as a joke? How many more signs did Ymir need?

“[lyrics redacted due to copyright],”

“And this is together,” Mikasa called out.

“[lyrics redacted due to copyright],” Ymir and Historia harmonized.

“[lyrics redacted due to copyright],” Historia sang by herself.

“And the next chorus together!” Mikasa called out again.

“[lyrics redacted due to copyright],” Historia and Ymir sang in harmony.

Mikasa stopped playing, pulling both Historia and Ymir from their own thoughts. Mikasa was crying as were Annie and Sasha.

“Stop fighting with each other,” Mikasa finally spoke. “Please. Let the past be buried. You both fucked up. Now let it go. Don’t end up like me, please.”

Ymir swallowed, when had she started crying? Damn Mikasa and her mind reading abilities.

How had Mikasa been able to put what exactly Historia and her had been feeling this whole time?

“The rest of the song is just back to things we’ve already covered,” Mikasa said quietly.

“Okay,” Historia answered.

“I don’t think I don’t think I should sing on it. I think that needs to be Ymir,” Annie suggested.

“I agree, I don’t think I should add percussion to it. I think it just needs to be Ymir, Historia, and you, Mika. Just two vocalists and the piano,” Sasha added.

“I agree. It already gives me goosebumps this way. This is the way it should stay.”

“I mean if you really think that and it’s okay with Ymir and Historia…..” Mikasa looked to the other two girls for answers.

“Whatever you think is best,” Historia said before standing up. “We’re all a part of this band equally.”

“Okay, that settles it. Whenever we can record, this is Ymir and Historia on vocals and Mikasa on piano. Mikasa, put your hands on the piano like you’re playing. I’ll post it on No Name’s Instagram. I’m going to beat this algorithm if it is the last thing I do,” Annie said as she stood up to take the picture.

“If anyone can beat an algorithm, it is math genius Annie!” Sasha called out as she stood up from the drums.

Ymir and Historia seem to wander together.

“You want to grab coffee one day this week? I don’t have much money so I can’t take you to dinner but we could talk. Just the two of us?” Ymir asked.

Historia just stared up at Ymir for a moment before nodding. “I’d like that.”

“Cool,” Ymir said as her face went red. She was so bad at this but at least this was a start.

“I need a puppy break, that song was depressing,” Sasha said as she exited the sun room.

The rest of the band followed.

“That was great,” Armin said as the girls entered the living room.

“You’ve come a long way. I’m very proud of you,” Hange beamed.

Levi had a book covering his face but they could see him nodding before Hange snatched the book out of in front of his face. There were tears clearly there.

“Are you crying, Levi?” Ymir asked, absolutely dumbstruck.

“No, I got dog hair in my eye.”

No one dared argue with that.

----------------------------------

Eren didn’t know what was worse some days.

The crippling depression that made it hard to do absolutely anything or the mania that made him feel like he could do anything.

With a combination of therapy and medication, he was starting to stabilize. He found that his writing had actually got better now. He didn’t feel less creative as he had feared. His therapist was proud of him, he was proud of himself.

Being back in the old house had brought back many feelings. The pictures of him, Mikasa, and Armin still lined the walls in his bedroom. He hadn’t packed his old bedroom up.

Zeke had patients to see today so Eren was alone. It didn’t mean that he was truly alone though.

His phone would go off with texts from Zeke, Floch, and Niccolo. Eren had decided to write a new song as a response to Mikasa’s.

PING!

Zeke Jaeger:

Stop focusing on the song and eat something. Balance.

Eren Jaeger:

You sound like my shrink.

Zeke Jaeger:

Maybe it is because I'm a psychologist. Eat something and drink some water.

Eren Jaeger:

Fine. You sound like my mom.

Zeke Jaeger:

Someone has to.

So Eren ate lunch.

He didn’t dare think about the fact Mikasa hadn’t texted him back.

Well that was a lie.

He had thought about it a couple times. Okay, more than a couple times, if he was being honest. He knew he shouldn’t expect her to respond. She owed him nothing. He was the one who had lashed out, allowing his fears to take control of him. He worried far too much on events that had yet to come without realizing what he was trying to avoid, he caused. He had brought pain to Mikasa and Armin.

Yet even after that, here was Mikasa giving him another chance to talk. She wanted him to tell her everything.

He told himself that he had done the right thing, that she was better off without him when it first happened. Yet there was a part of him that wanted to be selfish, even back then.

PING!

Mikasa Ackerman:

Thanks. Are you free tomorrow? I think we should talk if you are.

Eren stared at his phone for a moment.

She wanted to talk.

Tomorrow.

Many of his drunken antics had included crying over Mikasa and what he had put her through.

As Zeke had reminded him many times, Eren had spent one drunken night crying over the fact that Eren had given her sunflowers on her birthday. It had been mostly about how he should have given her flowers more.

Zeke being Zeke just let Eren sit on the floor and cry.

There was no reasoning with drunk Eren.

It took a lot to get Eren drunk but when he did, it was bad.

But he had stopped drinking.

He looked at his phone again.

What should he say?

He needed advice but Zeke had patients.

Niccolo would tell him just to say yes already.

Floch….Floch would say some stupid response which wouldn’t be useful.

Reiner would listen to Eren but he was at work.

Bertolt would have picked up but he would have told Eren he had no idea what to do.

Porco would pretend he didn’t know who Eren was while Marcel would give Eren some sappy crap.

Pieck would….he actually wasn’t sure what Pieck would do.

But the problem was outside of Reiner and Bertolt, none of them were truly Eren’s friends.

Well, Niccolo was his friend. He’d made that much clear.

And Floch was more like...well...he was Floch. He wasn’t someone Eren talked to about his personal life.

But the others, they only talked to him because he was Zeke’s little brother or that’s at least what Eren felt. He wasn’t sure if that was true or not.

Eren hadn’t talked to his friends in almost a year.

He hadn’t kept in contact with them.

He had figured most of them would have taken Mikasa and Armin’s side anyway.

He missed them though, especially right now.

He had fucked up.

In more than one way.

His phone rang.

Zeke.

“Did you burn the house down?” Zeke asked on the other line.

“No, why?”

“Because you need to eat. That requires cooking, if you were unaware.”

“Don’t you have a patient?”

“Well, I did until he got food poisoning. “

“Are you allowed to tell me that?”

“He threw up outside of the building. He was in public. Besides, I did not tell you who he was.”

“Mikasa wants to meet again to talk tomorrow.”

“And?”

“And what? I just told you.”

“What are you going to do not to fuck things up this time?”

“Do you realize I have no friends, right? It’s just you and yours.”

“And who is to blame for that?”

“Me,” Eren sighed.

“Exactly. Now, the love of your life is giving you a second chance, I suggest you take it.”

“You and Armin….always so logical.”

“Someone has to be. You are not. You make things much harder on yourself than they need to be.”

“What would you do?”

“About what?”

“If you had someone like Mikasa.”

“I would have not made the same mistake you did to start but I think I would do anything to have that person back. Grovel, beg, cry. Whatever it took, I would do it. A love like that is rare, you know.”

“Did you feel that way about Yelena?”

Zeke started laughing very loudly. “Fuck, no, I did not. Never. I have seen it several times but I have yet to experience it myself. But I am happy right now. I have you, I have Pieck. Romantic love is not something I need right now. You, on the other hand, think you just have me which is completely wrong. You do not have to like yourself to let others love you, Eren. I hate that stupid fucking saying of someone else cannot love you unless you love yourself. That is complete bullshit. I have seen more people who hate themselves while their partner loves them more than anything. Fucking internet self help books.”

“You had me and then you lost me.”

Zeke sighed, “you are a fucking idiot but you still have friends who love you. You still have a girl who would take on the world for you. So stop being a fucking idiot and talk to her. Get your friends back. Get your life back. Do something.”

Eren sighed.

He knew Zeke was right.

“And have you eaten something?” Zeke asked.

“Yes, I had lunch.”

“And you did not burn the house down? I am proud of you.”

“Don’t you have patients?”

“Food poisoning, remember?”

“All of them?”

“No, I already had my morning appointments. I only had one this afternoon.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Be there in an hour.”

“Fine….”

-----------------------

Mikasa watched as Hange tried the training exercises for Sawney and Bean.

PING!

Eren Jaeger:

Yeah, we should meet up. Zeke is going to move some stuff tomorrow. 4:00 pm sound good?

Mikasa Ackerman:

Okay. I’ll see you then.

Eren Jaeger:

I’ll be here.

#mmtylif #my writing

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joachimnapoleon · 4 years

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“A loyalty... that remained unshaken”

It’s the anniversary of the marriage of Michel & Aglaé Ney, so here are some excerpts on their courtship & wedding from Ney’s biographer, A. Hilliard Atteridge.

***

When Ney first met his future wife at the New Year of 1802 she was just twenty--a tall, handsome brunette, with dark eyes, a pleasing expression, and a wit and intelligence that spoke well for the education she had received at St. Germain. For Ney it was a case of love at first sight. Thanks to Josephine’s intervention he received an invitation from M. Auguié to visit the château of Grignon in February. But at first the course of true love did not run smooth. Mademoiselle Aglaé was disappointed in her admirer. She had been told of his exploits in the Army of the Rhine and of the many good qualities that had made him to be as handsome as he was brave and generous, and it was something of a shock to her, when he was presented to her, to find that he did not come up to the ideal of her day dreams.

The general had kept to the old military fashions that seemed strange to the eyes of the lady used to the courtier-like modes of the Consulate. His round good-humoured face looked heavy and dull decorated as it was with a bunch of red whiskers on each cheek, and though the queue had gone out of fashion, it used to be worn in the hussar regiments, and Ney kept it still in memory of his first campaigns. All this gave him an awkward appearance, and this was not made the better by a certain shyness which still troubled him in a social circle. He was hopelessly deficient in “small talk” and the current forms of trifling compliment. Mademoiselle concluded that her hero was after all only a rather rough, old-fashioned, and stupid cavalry officer. Ney was disappointed in his turn by her studied coldness of manner.

But Josephine did not abandon her plan on account of a first check. She took care that Mademoiselle Aglaé should hear all manner of good things of Michel Ney, and the General’s friends discreetly prevailed on him to bring his personal appearance more up to date before he ventured to see the lady again. Ney was clean shaved in the fashion of the time. In the month of March, in an interval of one of his tours of inspection, he came again to Grignon, and this time he made some progress towards winning the lady’s good will.

By the month of May matters had advanced so far that he thought he might venture on a formal proposal, and it was made in the proper French fashion to the father of the hoped-for bride, under the patronage of Josephine, who wrote for Ney, on 30 May from Malmaison, a letter addressed to M. Auguié asking him to bestow his daughter’s hand on the General. This was sent to Ney with a covering letter in which Josephine wrote to him:--

“I send you, General, the letter you have asked of me for Citizen Auguié. May I beg that you will read it. I have not said in it all the good things that I know and think about you. I want to let this worthy family have the satisfaction of discovering for themselves all your good qualities; but I repeat to you the assurance of the interest which Bonaparte and I myself take in this marriage, and of the satisfaction he feels in thinking that he will thus secure the happiness of two people for whom he has a special good will and esteem. I share with him both these feelings.”

Such a communication as Josephine’s letter to M. Auguié could have only one result. Within the week Madame Bonaparte received a letter from him telling her that he was only too pleased to accept the proposal made on behalf of General Ney. On 27 July the marriage contract was signed at Paris. (...) The date of the marriage was fixed for 5 August. Sending his fiancée a little present of jewelry Ney made a proud apology for its small value. He could not offer her pearls and diamonds he said, because he had always held a soldier’s sword should be used to obtain glory and not wealth.

Both the civil and religious ceremonies took place on that day at Grignon, the former at the mairie of the commune, the latter in the chapel of the château, which, after years of disuse, had been restored for the occasion. The famous artist Isabel, afterwards court painter to the Emperor, designed the decorations and organized the fête which followed. The aisles and roof of the chapel were hung with garlands of green foliage. Wax lights shone from chandeliers half hidden in masses of flowers, and a military band occupied the music gallery. The bridegroom wore the full parade uniform of a general and a jeweled Egyptian sabre the gift of Bonaparte. The bride was dressed simply in white with a wreath of roses on her bridal veil. Beside them at the altar stood a grey-haired peasant and his wife, servants of the farm attached to the château, who were celebrating their golden wedding. They wore he picturesque dress of the peasants of the district. Ney had provided that of the aged shepherd, Aglaé that of his wife. Their presence at the ceremony was suggested by Ney. He said that their fifty years of happy married life would be a good omen for his wedding and they would remind him of his own humble origin.

In the evening there was a rustic fête in the gardens of the château. The friends of the family and the farmers and peasants of the neighborhood formed the audience before an open-air stage on which Aglaé’s sisters and some of their friends performed a little play written for the occasion. Then the military band gave a concert, during which as the darkness came on, transparencies shone out among the trees bearing the names of the battles in which Ney had borne a distinguished part. Then a choir of peasant girls came forward and sang a song wishing long life and happiness to the newly wedded pair, and an aged peasant invited them to enter a rustic hut where he said they would find a wise old woman who would tell them something of their future. The gipsy predicted long years of happiness. Neither she nor anyone else could foresee the firing party in the Luxembourg garden only a few years away in the dim future. But she had no pretense to read such secrets, for the gipsy was only Aglaé’s aunt and schoolmistress, old Madame Campan, and the “peasant” who introduced Ney and his bride to her was the artist Isabel, in the rustic disguise in which he presided at the fête.

Then there was a ball in the open air. In the first quadrille two of the couples were Aglaé and the old shepherd, and Ney with the aged peasant woman for his partner. There was a pause in the series of dances to witness a display of fireworks. Then the ball went on till near midnight the party broke up. It was a day long remembered at Grignon, and a happier wedding feast than the stately court ceremonials that were the usual forms of celebrating the marriages of Bonaparte’s friends.

(Source: A. Hilliard Atteridge, The Bravest of the Brave: Michel Ney, Marshal of France, 1912, pages 107-111)

***

And a nice little summary of their relationship by Ney’s biographer Harold Kurtz:

Theirs was a marriage of reason rather than of romance or high sentiment, but in Aglaé’s strong and steady character there grew in the course of years a loyalty of the wife and mother that remained unshaken until, as an old lady, she saw her husband’s monument erected outside the Palace of the Luxembourg.

(Source: Harold Kurtz, The Trial of Marshal Ney: His Last Years and Death, 1957, pages 34-35)

#Michel Ney #Aglaé Ney #Josephine de Beauharnais #Jean-Baptiste Isabey #Madame Campan #today in history #19th century #history

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elesianne · 5 years

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A Silmarillion fanfic, chapter nineteen

Chapter summary: The correspondence continues.

Rating: Teen and up audiences; Chapter length: ~3,500 words

Chapter notes: Some letters in this chapter are complete, others are snippets.

(Read on AO3)

Chapter XIX // Letters, second year since farewell in Tirion

After the harvest festival the breezes that blow gentle on Ingwë's people grow cooler, and all that grows on the earth begins to quieten towards the dormancy of winter.

Tuilindien shares her time between continuing, slowly, to write commentary on that early work of Fëanáro's that has been her interest for a long time, and teaching children, and another little project. She keeps also writing to Carnistir as soon as the messenger from Tirion has brought her one from him.

Dearest Tuilindien,

This letter will take longer reaching you than my letters usually do, for I write to you from Alqualondë. I came here with my grandfather and the too-large retinue he always travels with. (Too large, because it includes many people whose only purpose seems to be to flit around and make everything from travelling to dining slower. Grandfather chuckles at me when I voice my discontent with them, saying that they have their purpose though it not as clear as some others'.)

I can hear the sound of waves as I write to you and if I stood up I could see them, for I was given a room very, very close to the sea. If I were still a boy I would jump out the window into the water, it is so close.

If Tyelkormo was here, he would still do it. He might be able to talk me into it, too.

My family came to the seashore when I was a child. Not usually to Alqualondë, but to more remote places where our only company was the cries of seabirds. Our father taught us to swim and our mother to fish, and we would make a fire on the beach after Mingling and roast the fish and sing old songs, or new ones that Makalaurë made up that day.

Visiting the city of the Falmari as part of a royal retinue is very different from those childhood visits to the seashore. The city is fair, decorated with pearls from the sea and jewels from my people, and the swanships are as beautiful in their loveliness and fitness for purpose as the crafts of my people.

But if I brought you to the shore of Eldamar, Tuilindien, as I would like to do as you told me you have never seen the sea, I would still bring you to one of those desolate beaches so that we might in peace watch the waves and listen to the cries of gulls, and make our own little fire to warm us in the evening.

As ever, yours

Carnistir

By the time Carnistir returns to Tirion with the king's advisors and courtiers and servants, he has realised that the restlessness he has been feeling recently is not only because of the slowly progressing trip to the Falmari. It is because he has settled into this life he began a year ago – working as his grandfather's secretary, being part of the court, living at the palace, carving out time in the evenings to do some small building or crafting project.

In the beginning of the year he was profoundly uncomfortable most of the time for having to be around people constantly, and not his kind of people at all at that. That was the whole point, of course, to expose himself to things that irritate him and to learn to cope with the irritation.

He isn't as uncomfortable anymore, though he certainly doesn't enjoy the pomposity and rituals of the court, and he has learned to not visibly roll his eyes too often. He still sometimes does it but sometimes it isn't so bad; sometimes he sees someone else doing the same in reply. Once it was Turukáno. It startled Carnistir to realise he might have something in common with his stuffy cousin.

He thinks there is nothing wrong with his restlessness at feeling settled. He thinks the restlessness is telling him that it is time to move on, in some small way at least.

He wants to move on together with Tuilindien but that is her decision, not just his, and he knows that he must wait for her to be ready.

There are things he can do on his own, though, and he begins the search for a large new project. He won't tell Tuilindien about it just yet.

The letters between them continue, though, just as frequent in autumn and winter and spring as they were in the summer.

Dear Carnistir,

As a new project to occupy my time, I have begun collaborating with a poet, researching details on his behalf for an epic he is composing about the Great March. This poet has the silliest, most outrageous mannerism of gesticulating so wildly while he explains something that a few days ago he upended a pot of ink on my sleeve and today he actually managed to overturn a small table, thankfully not on me…

Dearest Tuilindien,

Be careful not to let the wildly gesticulating poet hurt you, for no poem is worth suffering physical harm. Cáno disagrees with me on this, but most of our brothers agree with me that he goes too far with his art sometimes…

Dear Carnistir,

You may be glad to learn that my collaboration with the flailing poet has come to its end already, for which I must admit being grateful. I enclose two pages from the finished epic with this letter. I thought of including the whole thing, but it is very long and probably not to your taste. It will eventually reach King Finwë's court anyway.

These two pages contain a few verses that I actually contributed myself (I have been dabbling in poetry lately, and the flailing poet deemed this little contribution good enough to include in his work). I wonder if you will be able to spot them...

... I would know your words even if they were in Telerin.

I continue to learn new things here at court. I am now finding out, as an advanced student often does, that things are not always as they seem. I have learned recently that not all courtiers are as serious about insignificant things as they appear to be. I do maintain, though, that all are self-important in one way or another.

Awaldaner, the new acquaintance I wrote about a few letters past, is teaching me the art of insulting someone so subtly that they do not know whether they are being complimented or insulted. I intend to try his teachings on Curvo the next time I visit home. If I manage to fool him I will know that Awaldaner's technique is truly miraculous...

… Curufinwë is a tough one to fool, is he not? I do hope that you are practising on easier targets first. (Encouraging you to practise your skill of subtle insults makes me feel quite bad for my mother who thinks she raised a gentle-bred lady, but the thought of how brightly you will smile if you manage to hoodwink your brother makes me almost forget my guilt.)

I hope that I am reading correctly between the lines that you have made peace with your father. If it is true, it makes me very glad for you…

… Should you wish to thank someone to someone for the reconciliation between my father and I, you should write a letter to my grandfather. Some of his wisdom must have passed to me while I have been serving him, or I would not have been able to reconcile with my father. And more importantly, grandfather Finwë together with my beloved mother managed to prevail upon my esteemed headstrong mule of a sire to grudgingly almost-but-not-quite apologise to me. Yet without the king's influence I might not have forgiven.

In any case I must admit that I have not changed enough, and I doubt I ever will, to have forgotten. I don't believe that that kind of nobility can be learned, even from my grandfather.

My father is soon going on one of his wanderings and taking several of my brothers with him. I have previously always gone with him, but now I intend to stay in Tirion. I do not think the easy truce between my father and me could stand weeks of trekking together in the wild, and I have things to do in the city anyway…

As winter turns to spring again, Tuilindien finds herself wandering as she did a year ago before writing that first letter to Carnistir. This time she wanders not restless and awake but in her dreams that take her to some slightly distorted version of the waking world. It is soft and hazy and warm there, and she walks sometimes with Carnistir and sometimes in search of him. It is not an urgent or agitated search, but a trusting one.

Her dream self knows that she will find him, that he might be around that corner, or behind those trees, or in the shadows of the bright white buildings that glitter like ice, like the jewels they are decorated with.

She walks in a dream of Tirion, and of her home, and on the plains of Valinor. Some nights she walks into a memory, though those is slightly distorted too: one night she dances with Carnistir among the apple trees on her uncle's farm. They are in bloom, and when Tuilindien and Carnistir stop dancing and stand simply gazing at each other, his hands warm on her waist, the night breeze drops white petals in Carnistir's black hair. It is so lovely that she hurts, even in the dream, and wakes up.

She begins making some plans and preparations in late spring and just before she, Cirincë, Lirulinë and her husband go to spend the summer with their grandparents, she receives news that make her adjust her plans. They don't shake her resolve, though, and as she rides with her sisters down the narrow paths that wind down the side of the mountain and to the plains, she looks at everything with new eyes.

The summer passes slowly, though she tries to enjoy every moment with her sisters. She writes to Carnistir as often as before and he to her, though it feels like neither of them has many new, surprising things to say. The letters are just as great a pleasure to Tuilindien anyway, for she thinks that becoming more familiar with one another's lives is no bad thing.

Dear Carnistir,

Thank you for the bracelet you sent me. Each piece of jewellery you gift me is more beautiful than the last, and yet they match perfectly. I wish I had more grand occasions worthy of them to wear them; but I do not, and so I sometimes wear them at home, admiring myself in the mirror so much that my sisters make fun of me.

I wish I had something as lovely to give you, but all I can send is some more wine and another circlet of flowers, a smaller one this time. I tried to guess at the size of your wrist but may have failed. If I have, I suppose it does not matter much – you could hardly have worn it at the court anyway. A bracelet of dried wildflowers would not fit the more respectable image you have been striving to present.

I taught my little cousins who are also visiting here to make crowns out of flowers for themselves. It was a sweet day. Cirincë was my teaching assistant – she was excited to be the one teaching for once. My cousins were by turns insistent on learning to make a chain and on simply shredding the flowers and dropping them on their heads for decoration of another sort. Thus the lesson took a long time, and Cirincë needed to gather more flowers, but we were not in a hurry. By the end we were all covered in petals and our hands smelled of flowers.

I have also written some poetry but I fear it is not very good. I think it shall remain private, possibly indefinitely.

Thinking of you

Tuilindien

Dearest Tuilë,

It is my pleasure to make beautiful things for you. That is no empty flattery of the sort that I have to listen to every day from my grandfather's more obsequious courtiers, but the truth. It is all the more true because I still miss having a life centred around the making of things. I do have some projects outside of my duties at the palace, but they are still in the planning stages.

Perfecting the blue-green gems I use in your gifts has given me something to occupy myself with when I have time to spare. The gems in your bracelet should be twice as hard as the ones in your hair combs, and they reflect light better too.

I made the mistake of mentioning that I miss manual labour to Curufinwë and of course the little weasel repeated my words to father. I should have known that he would. Now they are both trying to persuade me to work on some large project with them in the family workshop. I am not going to. I do not intend to stop working for grandfather Finwë yet, though I might ask him to let someone else take over some of my duties.

I am also certain that it is best for our family relationships that I do not work together with my father and Curufinwë for more than short periods. I also want to complete things on my own, rather than together with Curufinwë in father's shadow. I know I will not make as great an impression in our city or on our people as my father, but I want to make some things of my own anyway.

The image of you surrounded by flower petals and excited children is a good one.

Yours

Carnistir

Only a few hours after giving his letter to a messenger, Carnistir receives a letter from Tuilindien. It is the first time she has written to him before receiving his reply to her previous letter, and as Carnistir turns it in his hands, he wonders, and worries, what could have prompted her to write to him out of turn. It does not seem like her.

Dear Carnistir,

The summer is passing fast and the harvest festival is approaching.

Two full years have passed now since I left Tirion, and I miss you. Your words on paper, though always a delight, are no match for your presence. I should like to see your dark eyes shine bright in the light of the Trees that is so close here, and to show you the fields where I have wandered thinking of you. I have dreamed of walking with you there, and dancing with you, and I would like to do it in the waking hours.

Will you come to the festival?

Yours

Tuilindien

Carnistir reads the words in a hallway in the palace, too impatient and curious to have taken the time to walk to his private chambers. Having finished reading the letter as quickly as he can, he finds himself staring into space and crushing the precious missive in his hands due to sudden flash of emotion that leaves him feeling both faint and vibrant.

He feels like he wants to hide in his room until he feels more settled, and also like he wants to run all the way to Taniquetil right at this moment.

Deciding on action that lies between the two extremes, Carnistir smooths the letter out against his thigh and holds it carefully as he hurries to his chamber.

There isn't going to be another messenger leaving for Ingwë's settlement until tomorrow at the earliest. He can write his reply later when he'll be capable of writing more than a series of enthusiastic ink splotches.

Carnistir changes into riding clothes, tucking the letter securely into a pocket of his leather jerkin, and rides to parents' house to see if there is anyone there that would go on a long ride with him. The only one who is both at home and willing to go is Tyelkormo, who never turns down an outdoor outing.

Carnistir eyes him a little suspiciously, but Tyelkormo does not appear to be in a teasing mood, just happy at the prospect of company, so they ride out of the city together.

They race over green hills and fields until both the men and the horses are panting, and as they return slowly to Tirion with windswept hair and loose reins, Carnistir begins to compose in his head the most joyful letter he has ever written.

'I take it that your patience has paid off with your girl.' Tyelkormo has been content to ride in silence for most of the way, enjoying the warm wind on his face and the supposedly playful yet in actuality deadly serious races with his brother, but apparently his lack of curiosity for the reason of Carnistir's jubilant mood has come to an end.

'She wants to see me.' Carnistir knows that the grin on his face is probably very stupid-looking, but he doesn't care.

'She wants to see you? From your mood I thought she'd agreed to marry you. Probably tomorrow. I would have thought that would be the only thing to make you this happy after waiting for so long.'

'That comes next, I hope.'

'I don't understand, I must say. Your girl is pretty, but – now don't knock me off my horse, I don't mean to offend and also if you do, I'll pull you down from yours, you know I will – there are many girls right here in Tirion who are just as pretty and would have married you in half the time it has taken to court this Vanya.'

'I don't want any of them.' Carnistir's extreme good mood is keeping him mellow as he glances at Tyelkormo, tall and strong on his large stallion, his unusual silver hair flowing in the wind. 'And you are one to talk. Any girl in the city would be happy to be courted by you, yet you hardly spare them a look and spend most of your time among beasts in the wild instead.'

'It is what I prefer.' Tyelkormo shrugs. 'I have no desire to marry.'

'Neither did I, until I met Tuilë. Now she is what I prefer.' Carnistir smiles at Tyelkormo, not even bothering to keep his smugness out of his face. 'You will understand one day.'

Tyelkormo looks at him in disgust. 'You could not have sounded more like Makalaurë even if you tried. It is disconcerting and you have no right – I am many years older than you!' Tyelkormo delivers his scolding with a grin.

'I have learned many unexpected things since I met Tuilë. One of them is that our second-eldest brother is unfortunately almost as smart as he thinks he is', Carnistir says, adding, 'Never tell him I said that.'

'I will not, but I am considering knocking you off your horse now.' Tyelkormo spurs his own mount closer to Carnistir's but then only shoves at his brother's shoulder in a friendly, if also rather forceful, manner. 'I'm glad your girl is warming up to you again.'

Before Carnistir can respond to these unexpected words, Tyelko adds, 'It has been much more quiet at home without you. I've grown fond of it, so it will be a relief if you move to your own house permanently.'

His brother's teasing fails to incite Carnistir. It would take much more to shake him out of his happy mood, and in any case, there is a still a smile on Tyelko's face, and though Curufinwë and Tyelkormo both know how to wield smiles like knives, this one is too soft to be weapon.

After stabling his tired horse and giving her a good rubdown, Carnistir returns to his room and sits down to write. He wants to let Tuilindien know how he feels but also to do it with what little elegance he has learned recently. He chooses his words carefully and rewrites the letter after the first version has become a mess.

My beloved Tuilë,

I hope your dreams of me are pleasant and that my dream self behaves well, never bringing you sorrow or pain, only joy. I also dream of you often, and every time I do esteem it a good night.

I will come to Taniquetil.

I would say that I cannot wait to see you, but it might sound too true. In fact I can wait, and I will wait, to see you at the festival. I will go with you everywhere where you wish me to come.

I will most likely travel with my mother's family, so if I do not find you first, look for a large group of strong-armed redheads and ask them where I went in search of you.

With love

Carnistir

Dearest Carnistir,

find me in the western meadows. I will wear a green dress and your combs in my hair along with blue flowers, and I will be looking for your arrival.

May the Valar bless your journey.

Yours

Tuilë

* A/N: In the next chapter there is a reunion at a harvest festival. As you've probably guessed already. We also find out what secrets Carnistir and Tuilindien have been keeping from one another.

Unfortunately, I have no idea when that chapter will be posted because I have written only a few lines of it so far. On the other hand, it's the chapter I've been looking forward to writing for two years now, so maybe I'll be able to write it fast!

#we're getting close to the end now! I'm scared #in a good way #I want to give this fic the ending chapters it and you all deserve #silmarillion fanfiction #tolkien fanfiction #caranthir #tuilindien #your spirit calling out to mine #romance #my fics #elesianne's fics

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catfish-and-the · 6 years

Text

aight ive been getting super emo over my favourite sunny eyed dreamboat boy mr sir van mccann so im just going to record my catb concert from three years ago here so it doesnt “wisp away with the sands of time” as i wrote in seventh grade (not after the catb concert) disclaimer i kno that some catb fans say that catb arent the same as they were way back when and im not here to counter that but this is what happened to me when catb were still small and it was 2015 and i know that things mustve changed but im here to document my own experience my hands are shaking btw

June 9 2015 - Varsity Theatre, Minneapolis MN

We got to the venue super early cos we wanted front row or something super fuckin close to front row and yeah man there were maybe like 5 people ahead of us super cool i had my clear backpack, my classic clear concert backpack, and im not really sure how we passed the time but eventually i was “sent on a mission” to see what lies in the alley between the venue and the adjacent building and so i walk over as casually as possible and i pass by the alley and turn my head and lo and behold tall boy Van is standing there in his green reflective sunglasses and dark outfit and i fuckign STOP cos van just he radiates this wonderful energy of that classic leo magnificence but hes smiling, hes friendly and he waves to me and i, being socially inexperienced, am too afraid to approach him so i wave back and WALK BACK THE WAY I CAME. so van watches me pass by the alley, wave at his wave, and then go back. super weird. i regret it but i think its funny. all i know is van smiled at me and he waved at me and i did something clumsy

concert: fuckin grand man i love the balcony, i love the red lights, i loved being second row dead center in front of dreamboat boy i love hourglass i still have my all time fav catb song rango on video fuckin class tops every concert ive been to so far bc i was second row (but am was so good too)

post concert: we were waiting s o l o n g for catb to come out. they didnt come out. I again was sent another mission back to the alley and there i saw a Very Tall Figure and was like fuck. somehow we approached and somehow I got pushed to the front so alas im standing in this narrow fucking alley at like midnight w a very tall man (whos beaming at me, sunglasses OFF) and since im in the front vans like approaching and i was yellin at myself like dont fuckign stand there bihinch so i muster the courage to meet him halfway and he greets me and holds out his hand for me to shake (I shake it) and here things start getting a little blurry in terms of order so here it is, most likely out of order but who will ever know for sure:

Somehow we hug. I forgot if i asked or if it just happendd but we hug. Hes very soft and very warm and he smiled.

i told him how great the concert was and how much i loved his music and how his concert “made my night.” He said something (while smiling) and then he said “youve just made my night” and of course i insist that hes made MY night cos like... no ones ever told me i meant something before so i told him again “you made my night” and HE SAYS “YOUVE MADE MINE” AGAIN LIKE BOY...... TAKE MY COMPLIMENT (he won the argument i left it at “no, you made my night”)

i remember that i got him a gift and a letter so at some point i pull it out and hand it to him. He smiles and says thank you, “i’ll be sure to read it” and tucks the letter into his chest pocket meanwhile i also hand him a little stuffed turtle and i, being a Weakling in social situations, quickly explain that i hope he likes it and that “im not sure if you like turtles, but-” and he cuts me off and reassures me that h eDOES like turtles and he takes the Little Turtle in his hand and bends down next to me (cos im small and van is Tall) and tells me about the time a fan gave him a little turtle bracelet ehich he wore almost all the time and pointed to his wrist of the arm he wore it with (i forget, oh dear. i believe it was his right?) (”but it broke”) and he looked at me and smiled while we were in that position his presence is very warm and then he straightens back up and holds the little turtle in his hand up against the golden streetlight where he “promises to take good care of it” and i swear the pure joy on his face the entire time made me fall in love (though it fell dormant until 2018)

At soe point i take a very bad, very poor quality selfy with van but to this day it remains on the back of my clear phonecase becasue we looked so happy despite the terrible lighting and it reminds me of him. van had to bend down next to me to take the picture, and his arm was around my shoulders. He was hesitant to stand back upright cos he thought i wanted ot take more. i didnt (another regret but boy do i treasure the one selfy)

I hand my phone to catbs old manager for group pics. He (the manager) and van take selfies on my phone, which i dont discover until later

we take group pictures. we r all happy. i havent looked at those.

i know its time to leave because i want the other fans to meet the band. I dont want to leave obviously. I ask van for another hug. I hold on to him very tight, and he does the same. i can only reach his collarbone, despite him bending down to reach me.

Van has an endearing way of hugging, ive noted, where we hug at the side (my right, his left) together while the other sides are kinda separate, not touching, but u have ur arms wrapped around eachother, my right arm underneath his left and onto his back while he can quite literally put his entire arm around me, the opposite arms are kind of around each other. I try to go onto my toes to hold on to him closer because he feels like a safe haven and he makes me feel like i belong somewhere and he makes me feel tranquil and warm and everything positive but not in the jittery excitement kind of way, just peaceful. I hold on to him very tight. its the last time.

We wave goodbye. its very cold without him despite being warm enough to wear a skirt and short sleeve

I go home and remember that i have another little turtle, but this one is blue and a bit worn (thus i gave van the green one). I name it Van and keep it on my bookshelf.

#sometimes when im upset i repeat these details to myself in order to ingrain it into my memory forever becasue #im so afraid of losing it and of losing the memory of him.#and this is why its so hard for me to believe that hes changed (for the Not Better) because when i met him #you couldnt mistake the pure happiness on his fasce and no one really has ever looked that way because of me before #and so ever since then i like to call van my best friend because tast how he made me feel like we were best frineds #but i know we arent and i think it would be sad to call him that when these days i do have friends so i call him my 'Best Fendi' cos hes a #'designer boy' and fendi is pretty close to friend in terms of spelling and ive realized the yellow lights are the yellow of fendi hahah #oh man im oging to cry i havent iver tried writing stories that are based off of this but ive never written anything so specific #like plotlines tossed this is what happened this is what i remember no characters to hide behind nothing this is it #its been htree years and i still havent gone back to listen to tyrants or watch my videos i know ill cry if i do #it was the first time i felt like i belonged somewhere because up until then the only friends i had were toxic friends #so i like to think of van as my first friend #ok im fuckign rambling now im going to stop here hahahhahhah #ignore me #june 9 2015 #if if if #this is why im so in denial of what youve been saying about van changing i just after that i couldnt believe #i cant believe that what they say and the boy i met are the same #even though rationally i know they are right but Emo Me loves to disregard it thus this blog is still functioning #with love letters and sappy tags and heart eyes #maybe i wont ever come to accept it #and so van became one of my fav boys not just catb as my top 4 bands but van himself #i dont knwo i dont have enough control over the english language to descrive everything i dont i wish i did #💚💚💚

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neighbourskid · 4 years

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“It’s f***cking Benedict Cumberbatch!” -- Letters Live 2016

(original date: 14 March 2016)

Dear Fellow Traveller

In December 2013, at the Tabernacle in London, an event took place that would later on attract my attention and take up a nice little spot in my brain and heart, my mind deciding that this event would be very important to me.

This event is called Letters Live. Inspired by Shaun Usher's Letters of Note series and Simon Garfield's To the Letter, Letters Live is a remarkable event, where, from show to show different, great performers read letters from all around the world, sometimes dating back centuries.

When I first heard from Letters Live last year, due to Benedict Cumberbatch being there and him being my favourite actor, I was sad to have missed the opportunity to go there. Because letters, amongst other various forms of writing, are something that I really, really love. I find letters to be something truly beautiful and I treasure the ones I get forever.

So, as it happens, this past fall I heard that Letters Live would be held again in 2016. I immediately knew, this is it. I have to go. This is my chance at attending this great event. But, at the time, I had just come home from a week in London and was planning my trip to San Diego next summer. Money was, to say it mildly, rather short. But guess who didn't care? THIS KID. But look, I'm not an irresponsible little prat. I had an idea.

Knowing that I cannot possibly be the only person in my surroundings interested in cultural events like this, I asked around. Hey, I wrote to about twenty people, I know you are somewhat interested in cultural stuff. I'm interested in going to this event, you know. Wanna come? I attached a link to the website and a video, and waited for responses. All of them were interested and would've loved to come. In the end, we were three people. But still. We booked the trip.

Letters Live 2016 is held in Freemason's Hall in London, from March 10th to 15th. The past weekend, my two friends and I hopped on a train to Zurich, sat down in an easyjet plane, and at noon set foot in London town. And that evening we would take a seat in Freemasons's Hall and shortly after be captivated by an amazing show. But, not so fast. Let's turn back a bit, and go slowly through this weekend.

On the plane we had a flight attendant that reminded me strongly of Parker. This just a note, I made after leaving the plane at London Luton Airport.

After arriving at around two at our hostel -WE WALKED THROUGH FUCKING OXFORD STREET ON A FUCKING SATURDAY- we then went to McDonalds to have a late lunch and then back to Oxford Street with the tube to go for a bit of shopping. I bought all seasons of Chuck (fucking finally) and t-shirts, my friends bought cd's and shirts and, well, a lot of stuff -a batman doormat for example.

After stopping shortly at our hostel, we made our way to Freemason's Hall where Letters Live is held. We arrived in good time, could check out the stuff that they sold for charity and also got some really nice gifts.

We then took our seats in the Hall and, while checking out the audience and taking selfies and pictures, waited for the show to begin. At around 7.40pm the room darkened and it began.

First out was Jamie Byng who introduced and started the evening with -who would've guessed- a letter.

After him followed a musical number by Kelvin Jones, who encouraged the audience to sing with him and flash their phone lights like at a concert.

Next up was Toby Jones who, after getting lots of applause and whooo's, read a letter from George Bernard Shaw to The Times, about his experience at the opera, where he had to look at a women's hat. Toby was brilliant, as expected.

The letter from Edna Johnson to a headmaster, read by Maureen Lipman, was next up. Maureen's accent fit so perfectly well with the contents of that letter. I giggled shamelessly. Edna Johnson wrote about a radio she won at a luncheon for the elderly. The room was full of laughter, after Maureen read the line "Fortunately, I had my new radio. Knowing this, Maggie asked if she could listen to mine. I told her to fuck off."

After Maureen, the room erupted in applause when the off-voice introduced and welcomed Jude Law to the stage. His reading of the letter "Five accidents in two minutes" from Fred Allen to the State of NY Insurance Department was so funny and well done, we couldn't stop laughing.

Next up was Meera Syal who read a letter from Mary Wollstonecraft to an acquaintance from 1795. It was about the acquaintance proposing to Mary that she should marry someone rich. Outrageous, of course. And brilliantly done by Meera.

"P.S. This is my favorite memo ever" is a letter written by Matt Stone, one of the creators of South Park, to the MPAA. Robert Rinder tickled laughter out of us all with reading that letter so hilariously brilliant. You can find the letter here [x] and you should definitely read it. You will not be disappointed.

After Robert, Caitlin Moran took the stage to read a letter she wrote. "A Letter to Teenage Girls during the bad years" is a wonderful piece of literature that stunned the audience into silence. It was touching, full of wisdom and just heart-wrenchingly beautiful.

Next up on stage was Danny Boyle with the letter of Bertrand Russel to Oswald Moseley, about the reasons why he is not going to debate with him. It was written in 1962.

Ferdinand Kingsley then read the beautiful letter "I embrace you with all my heart" written by Albert Camus to his teacher Louis Germain. Ferdinand read in such a wonderful accent, it was stunning. I'm quite sure I have read or heard this letter before, though. Not sure where or when.

For the last letter before the intermission we welcomed Maureen Lipman back onto the stage. She read the 1985 letter from Katharine Hepburn to Spencer Tracy. She read surrounded by silence, total silence - the audience completely captivated.

Freddie Dickson endet the first half with a beautiful song.

Through the intermission, a woman talked to us who sat in the same row as we did. She works for a EU thing for refugees (I didn't really understand) and, after first talking a bit to Dave, asked why we were here and so on. I told her that, being a fan of Benedict Cumberbatch, I had learned about the event and wanted to attend. She was impressed that we came to London for this event only.

The intermission ended and the show continued. First up was some music again from Freddie Dickson, who did a fantastic job. He has a wonderful singing voice.

Not much after, the narrating voice in the off introduced a letter about whiskey and up on stage walked Jude Law (again) and -and yes I was fangirling a teeny tiny bit- Benedict Cumberbatch (I have to note here that he looked dashing and healthy and that his whole presence made the trip worth it (again, just like he did with Hamlet) and I do not regret spending that much money for a weekend trip at all.)

"The mingled souls of wheat and corn" is a 1887 letter conversation between R.G. Ingersoll and Rev. Dr. J.M. Buckley. The letter was hilarious, we all laughed very much, and I might probably send the link to my former English teacher -assuming a video of that specific letter will be available online- because he bloody loves whiskey.

The EU woman was excited for me because I picked the right date to see Benedict, and exclaimed something along the lines of "It's fucking Benedict Cumberbatch!" to her friends and us. Truth be told, I thought it to be obvious that he would be there Saturday, because he is still filming Doctor Strange, so it was more likely for him to be there on the weekend. Also, I have magic senses for such things. MAGIC SENSES YOU GUYS!

After Jude and Benedict left the stage with thunderous applause, Caitlin Moran was greeted back. She read the letter of Liz Clegg -I think she might've sat right in front of us, or the EU woman at least knew her- to the refugee Jamil, written this past February. It was beautiful.

Danny Boyle then took the stage again to read the hilarious letter "I am the dead one" from Spike Milligan to George Harrison. Again, the audience was laughing quite much.

After Danny followed the winner of the competition for the best letter. Sent in by Jessica Ling, it is the beautiful letter to J.K. Rowling written by Chrissy J. Hart on behalf of her daughter Ella-Jane.

When Carey Mulligan walked on stage again, about to present that letter, I knew this was going to be good. The letter was beautiful -heart-wrenching, yes, but beautiful. Made me realise why exactly I love Harry Potter so much. I also nearly cried at that one. Because let's be real, a heart-wrenching letter to Jo about a kid battling cancer and finding strength in Harry Potter? That is weeping material. You can find the letter here [x] if you'd like to read it.

Jude Law then took the stage again, reading the letter from Michael Powell to Martin Scorcese about the script that was going to be the film Goodfellas. Powell complimented Scorcese on it and told him that "it is a stunning script". Jude read it magnificently. Love his accent by the way.

After that followed a letter from a Dorothy Parker to Seward Collins. We welcomed Meera Syal back onto the stage, and she was able to make us laugh various times. Her take on the letter was brilliant. Her voice fit so well with the letter, it was all so salty and dry. And the postscript of the letter was fantastic: "I promised my mother on her deathbed I would never write a postscript, but I had to save the wow for the finish. I have lost 22 pounds." It would be an understatement when I would say that we laughed a bit. We laughed a whole lot.

Toby Jones blessed us again with his presence, when he returned to the stage to read the letter "Prayers for Rain", written in 1919. After it was asked that one adds a prayer for rain after the sermon because of the draught, Winston Churchill wrote to The Times to state his thoughts about that proposition. He wanted to make sure that the whole thing was properly done and not just vague. We laughed a lot again, while Toby read.

Maureen Lipman returned to the stage once more to read a letter from September 10th, 1963. It was from Rachel Carson to Dorothy Freeman. "Dear One" is about finding happiness in the face of the inevitable death. Maureen read beautifully, the audience silent.

The silence held on, when Robert Rinder read the letter of American WWII veteran Brian Keith to Dave, a fellow soldier he met and fell in love with while stationed in North Africa. Robert did a wonderful job reading this letter about secrecy, love, hope, desperation, and the promise of being together some day. Which sadly didn't happen.

We then welcomed Carey Mulligan back onto the stage for a very short letter about women's suffrage. In February 1913, Bertha Brewster wrote to the Daily Telegraph that the only two ways of stopping the outrages and the protests around the Suffragists was either 1) killing all women in Britain or 2) giving women the vote. Carey left the stage accompanied with lots of applause and laughter.

I was anticipating this for a bit, because I saw him standing in the hallway behind the curtain (which was visible from where we sat) and I only waited for him to get out there again. After Ferdinand Kingsley's take on the letter "Thinkers and Doers" from Buckminster Fuller to Michael -he read in a perfect British accent which confused and stunned me, because earlier he had read with a French one-, the off-voice introduced the letter of a 17 years old Tom Hanks to George Roy Hill and then Benedict Cumberbatch walked on stage again. It was about how Tom Hanks wanted to be discovered by Hill and his ideas about the exact variants of that happening. Ben's take on the letter was brilliant, I loved the accent and the whole expression. Nicely done, B, really well done.

After that, Kelvin Jones returned to the stage and performed the song Message in a Bottle which was beautiful. He's a really great singer.

And after that, suddenly all of them walked on stage, Benedict and Jude leading the crew. They assembled behind a nice looking man in a black "Choose Love" shirt. Turned out, the nice man is a refugee called Hassan and he's about to read the letter "Dear People of Europe". Letters Live, after visiting the refugee camps in Calais, France -Jude brought up the idea to hold an event there, which they did- decided to use the event to give attention to the crisis, encourage the guests to donate or buy things in the lobby to support the organisations that are determined to help the refugees. I thought the gesture was really nice and a good idea.

Anyway, the reading was beautiful, very touching and moving. The refugee nearly cried -okay I guess he did-, the EU woman next to Dave was positively weeping and, I am quite sure of this, I saw Ben wiping away some tears as well. Understandable. I mean, I already heard his speech at the end of Hamlet. Dude has a lot of feelings about the refugee crisis and only wants the best for those poor people. Being a father doesn't make it any easier, I believe.

There were standing ovations at the end, the response was beautiful.

After the event -and after buying shirts- we left Freemason's Hall and went to look for a late dinner at McDonald's. Then we went back to our hotel, we all exhausted and with hurting legs.

The next morning, after various alarms went off at different times -from 4.30 to 8am, everything was represented- we finally got up and went for breakfast at around 9am.

After breakfast and check-out, we walked to Tottenham Court Road Station, next to which is my Starbucks- well, the Starbucks I went to everyday the week I was in London past fall. The employee that recognised me last time every time I went, didn't work that day. Well, it was a longshot anyway.

After our trip to Starbucks, we went down to South Bank and I showed my friends some of the important touristy things. Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, House of Parliament, that kinda stuff. For lunch we went to St. James's Park where we ate at Inn The Park (that pun is so hilarious though). While eating we watched the birds and there was one that was always making sound. My headline for it: White, Male, Horny Bird makes Drama. Yup.

Afterwards, we continued our walk to Buckingham Palace where we were greeted with loads of people waiting on the side of the road. We saw a police escort and lots of people with yellow vests and walkie talkies. We wondered what exactly it was, so we waited. TV crew flew by, we reckoned, and at some point a few camera men walked through as well.

Turns out, we walked into the filming of an episode of Top Gear. At least that's what some of the yellow-vest people said. We watched how they drove by, and then continued to Buckingham Palace, where we took a few pictures and watched the Guardsmen. All I could think about, to be honest, was the episode in season 3 of Sherlock, the one with "The Bloody Guardsman". I also tried to find the bench on which John and Sherlock sat while watching the Guardsman, but unfortunately no luck there. My friends kept joking that they specifically brought a bench there to film the scenes. But anyway.

After that we walked past all the guarded buildings to Victoria Station and then took the Gatwick Express to the airport. On this weekend trip we managed twice to reach the maximum of coins to put into the ticket machine, and twice it spit them out again like a slot machine in the casino. And twice I told that damn machine to fuck off.

Arriving at Gatwick Airport we realised that we were waaaay to early. We had to wait about two hours until we knew what our gate would be. We spent this time charging our phones and counting money. We still hadn't got the hang of British pounds, to be honest.

After waiting for what felt like forever, our gate was finally announced and we made our way back to Gate 14, waiting again, for the boarding to start. We were all tired and wanted to go home, desperately awaiting our beds.

Once we were boarded, we all put music on our ears and slept. I nearly slept through the whole flight, to be honest. On the train ride back home, I made the mistake of looking at the tweets from Letters Live from Sunday evening. Benedict was there again, as well as his wife Sophie, Loo Brealey and Oscar Isaac. That is a damn fine line up, I have to say. I wish I could've been there that night as well. My magic senses about Ben's presence on Saturday did not think about the fact that he might make a family day out of Letters, instead of chilling at home. Well, anyway, I'm not gonna sulk (actually, I am a bit doing so right now). Correction: I am positively sulking now. Not because ours wasn't good. But Benedict is brilliant, and I would've loved seeing more of him. Also Sophie and Loo? I mean come on! That would've been SO AWESOME. I'm really booking the whole week next year, I tell you. Just so I don't miss a thing.

After forever and a day, we finally arrived at home and, exhausted as I was, I decided to just fall on my bed and sleep until forever. Well, who would've guessed, that didn't really happen. I went to bed at 1am, tired as shit.

But anyway, the event was brilliant, I loved every second of it. If you ever get the chance, go and attend. It is truly magical. Under the cut you will find the exact program of our evening at Letters Live, with all the names of performers and letters.

And to end this post, have here a quote about Letters Live by none other than Benedict Cumberbatch. I love that guy.

“Letters Live makes us pause and imagine the lives behind the letters read and the circumstances of their origin. The relationship between the audience, reader and writer helps deepen our understanding of these inspiring artefacts of the human condition. They are windows into the love, beauty, pain, and humour of their creators and recipients.”

Cheers.

LINE UP LETTERS LIVE 2016 - SATURDAY

Jamie Byng - Introduction Letter

Kelvin Jones - Call You Home

Toby Jones - George Bernard Shaw to The Times, July 3rd 1905 "The Spectacle sickend me"

Maureen Lipman - Edna Johnson to a headmaster "Fortunately, I had my new radio"

Jude Law - Fred Allen to the State of New York Insurance Department, June 18th, 1932 "Five accidents in two minutes" (second part: [x])

Meera Syal - Mary Wollstonecraft to an acquaintance, 1795 "I can bear anything but my own contempt" (Letter XIII)

Robert Rinder - Matt Stone to the MPAA "P.S. This is my favorite memo ever"

Caitlin Moran - "A Letter to teenage girls during the bad years"

Danny Boyle - Bertrand Russell to Oswald Moseley "Every ounce of my energy"

Ferdinand Kingsley - Albert Camus to Louis Germain "I embrace you with all my heart"

Maureen Lipman - Katharine Hepburn to Spencer Tracy, ca 1985 "What did you say? I can't hear you..."

Freddie Dickson

INTERMISSION

Freddie Dickson

Jude Law and Benedict Cumberbatch - R.G. Ingersoll and Rev. Dr. J.M. Buckley, 1887 "The mingled souls of wheat and corn"

Caitlin Moran - Liz Clegg to Jamil, February 2016 "I'm scared I'm going to lose you"

Danny Boyle - Spike Milligan to George Harrison "I am the dead one"

Carey Mulligan - Chrissy Hart to J.K. Rowling "A Letter from a Mother"

Jude Law - Michael Powell to Martin Scorcese, Nov 15th, 1988 "It is a stunning script"

Meera Syal - Dorothy Parker to Seward Collins, May 1927 "I have not shot her yet"

Toby Jones - Winston Churchill to The Times, 1919 "Prayers for Rain"

Maureen Lipman - Rachel Carson to Dorothy Freeman, Sept 10th, 1963 "Dear One"

Robert Rinder - American World War II veteran Brian Keith to Dave "Sleep Well My Love"

Carey Mulligan - Bertha Brewster to Daily Telegraph, Feb 1913 "Give women the vote."

Ferdinand Kingsley - Buckminster Fuller to Michael, Feb 10th, 1970 "Thinkers and doers"

Benedict Cumberbatch - Tom Hanks to George Roy Hill "Who Is This Kid"

Kelvin Jones "Message In A Bottle"

Hassan - "Dear People of Europe"

#blog post #long post #import from old blog #letters live 2016 #letters live #benedict cumberbatch #jude law #toby jones #carey mulligan #kelvin jones #ferdinand kingsley #robert rinder #meera syal #danny boyle #freddie dickson #caitlin moran #maureen lipman #jamie byng

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